


Happiness Is a Warm Kitten

by skinklegs



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 03:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12472908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinklegs/pseuds/skinklegs
Summary: Two tired superheroes never got to finish their movie date.





	Happiness Is a Warm Kitten

Everything was very, very warm. That was the first thing that occurred to Marinette when she awoke. She was sort of awake, at least. Her eyes were still heavy and tired, and her body ached in the way that can only be achieved by sleeping in the same position for…how long had she been asleep? It was that thought that truly woke her up, and she realized then how quiet the room was. The television had been silenced. Was the movie over? She wanted to open her eyes to check, but it hurt to do so. They were determined to stay closed. Still, with effort, she blinked away the sleep and managed a glance around the room. It was dark. No daylight shone in through the windows, only the lights of the surrounding buildings and street lamps. Those lights threw long shadows across the living room and onto the sofa where she lay in the dark.

Marinette breathed in deep and addressed Adrien, the source of the uncomfortable heat. He was still asleep, his cheek resting on her chest. Somewhat to her dismay (and somewhat not) she could feel his warm breath on her collar, and it made her even hotter. In his sleep, he had managed to shimmy her between himself and the back of the sofa. He was now half on top of her, half beside her, with his arms wrapped tight around her waist and one of his legs curled around hers. He was snoring gently, too; something she didn’t perceive at first because in its persistence, it had faded into background ambience, like the cars passing by on the street below.

“Adrien?” ventured Marinette. No response. She lowered her voice and said again: “Adrien?”—this time in a rolling singsong, holding the ‘a’ and ‘e’ on her tongue.

He cracked a smile, but did not wake up. It occurred to her then that he must have been dreaming. About her? She hoped so. Still, she would have preferred he do his dreaming somewhere a bit more spacious. The both of them were crammed tight onto the sofa; he couldn’t have been any more comfortable than she was, if he were awake. She tried again to rouse him, this time lifting her free hand—that is to say, the one not trapped between her body and the sofa—to run her fingers through his hair. She rubbed her middle and forefinger back and forth in his bangs, then slowly traced them around his ear. Eventually her fingertips brushed the back of his neck, and when they did, he breathed in sharply, shifting slightly on top of her. It was working.

“Wake up, Chaton,” she coaxed, and her fingers began to tickle the nape of his neck.

First he whimpered, and then, suddenly, a new, familiar sound filled the empty air. A low rumble ignited in his chest. It was quiet and muffled, but unmistakable: a purr. Marinette giggled to herself.

“What are you dreaming about?” she asked. “It must be a good one.”

The more she tickled, the louder his purring became. Eventually he began to twist himself this way and that, leaning his head into her touch and rolling tighter into her side. He squeezed her waist as tight as a sleeping boy can squeeze, and finally, he spoke!…sort of. His words were still riddled with sleep and incomprehensible, though she could make out the first syllables of her name, slurred almost beyond recognition.

“What was that?” she murmured.

Adrien did not open his eyes, but he did answer her. “That tickles, Mari,” he repeated, sounding thoroughly content.

“That’s the idea!”

To emphasize her point, she dragged her fingers up through his hair, and thunder rolled in his chest. He drew in a deep breath, and then let it out with a groan as he stretched his back into a luxurious arch. He looked very much like a pleased kitten, noted Marinette, and she giggled once more at the thought.

When he relaxed again, he did so slightly further from her side, at last allowing her a bit of space to breathe. She immediately felt cooler.

“Minou?” said Marinette. Adrien hummed his curiosity, and she replied: “What were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t remember,” he muttered, but the blissful grin on his face told her otherwise.

“Oh? Is that so?” Her fingertips wandered up and down the back of his neck, toying leisurely with his hair, much to Adrien’s (audible) delight. “It must have been a sweet dream,” she crooned.

“It was,” said Adrien, nodding in agreement. “You were in it.”

Marinette gasped, feigning surprise. “And what was I doing to make you purr like that?” she asked.

Finally Adrien opened his eyes. He tilted his head back to look at her, careful not to interrupt her roaming fingers. He smiled at her, and in the dark she could see a glint of playful mischief in his eyes, hidden behind the sleep still weighing heavy on his eyelids.

“The same thing you’re doing now,” he answered.

“The very same?”

“Well…”

With great effort, Adrien rolled onto his front and propped himself up on his elbows. Marinette held her breath as he settled down on top of her and brought their foreheads together. He stared at her, his eyes half shut, tired but brimming with an unmistakable affection. A low purr still sang beneath his heart, growing louder as Marinette brought her hands up to caress his cheeks. They were warm with a blush she could not see, and part of her lamented the dark. Another part was grateful, though, that he could not see hers.

Her eyes drifted shut as he leaned in, and after a moment of precious stillness, she felt his lips brush tenderly against hers. He kissed her once, softly, asking, and when she hummed acquiescence, his lips found hers again. This time was firm, needy, wanting, and it drew an exhilarated breath from Marinette. He broke the kiss and she leaned up after him, pulling him to her, and all the while he purred, purred, purred.

After some time, his hand found one of hers. He intertwined their fingers and squeezed, guiding it to rest on the cushion beside them. Then he kissed the corner of her mouth. She tilted her head toward him, searching for him, hoping for more, but Adrien had other ideas. He peppered soft kisses along her cheek, until finally he came to her ear, and suddenly her body was alight with sparks. His breath tickled; it made her squirm and quiver and giggle, and he seemed to derive great joy from that, because he did not stop. He kissed her ear once, twice, three times, until fireworks popped and crackled and burst inside her and a quiet moan slipped from her lips. And then he stopped.

His head fell next to hers. Not far; close enough that she could feel his smug grin against her cheek before he placed one last kiss there. Then he nuzzled her, squeezed her hand, and said, with nary the slightest hint of shame: “Made you purr.”

Marinette’s eyes popped open. “You—I—Adrien!” she sputtered, voice bathed in mock indignation. “You did that on purpose!”

He paid no mind to her teasing. Instead he snuggled his forehead against her temple and breathed a low, affectionate noise. It reminded her quite a lot of his purring, which was still rolling on beneath their conversation.

“Sorry, Bugaboo,” he said.

“No, you’re not. I can tell.”

He chuckled at that; a soft, breathy noise she may not have heard had he not been inches from her ear. Then he said: “Alas, my princess knows me too well.”

“Your princess is very tired, Chaton,” she murmured. Her head lolled to one side, leaning comfortably against his. “And you have piano tomorrow morning.”

“I know, I know…”

“Don’t you think you should go home and rest?” she asked.

She felt rather than saw him shake his head. “I’ll sleep better here,” he said.

“On the couch?”

“With you.”

And with that he relaxed completely on top of her, squeezing her hand once before melting as a cat does in the sun. Marinette sighed, soft, content, and closed her eyes.

“If you’re sure,” she murmured, “then stay.”

And he did. She fell asleep listening to the soft, steady rumble coming from deep within his chest. The last thing she remembered before nodding off was the soothing sound of his purr. It lulled her gently to sleep and, she thought, even found its way into her dreams. Those dreams quickly slipped her mind, however, because when the two of them next awoke, it was to the sound of her parents’ laughter.


End file.
